A Time to Sleep
by LauraMarieAlways
Summary: The Doctor has known this day would come; his Golgatha is finally here. River, his lover, is gone from his life; Clara, the Impossible Girl, has saved him for the last time. Before his fated end, The Doctor has one last mission. But can he rewrite time fo
1. Prologue

**A/N: **This episode takes place after the season finale "The Name of the Doctor". Moffat left us hanging with the "secret" and of course our minds wander when the season is over, so I decided to write my take on it. Feel free to give me your **concrit**, your thoughts, and let me know of any plot holes in the story. Thank you. ~Laura

* * *

Prologue:

Clara was in her room now, safe and sound. Their last mishap had him worried out of his mind over her; he wouldn't lose another Companion, not the way he lost Amy and Rory, not the way he lost Donna. He couldn't give her up, though, he had proven that much after Amy and Rory. He couldn't exactly keep her around, either. She was in danger, especially now that she learned of his secret: the Doctor who broke the vow, the Doctor who sealed his fate. The Doctor of today never told anyone that he was the 11th Doctor; they just assumed that he wasn't hiding past incarnations. But the Doctor keeps secrets for the sake of everyone, and it's better that way.

He sat in the Tardis now, watching her sleep on the screen. It had been a long night, and she was curled up in a ball on her bed, restless even in her sleep. How much longer could he deny the truth? How much longer could he hide it not only from her, but from himself? There was nothing on Earth more pitiful that denial, he knew. "A truth that is plain to see, unheard by you, unheard by me..." the old (translated) Gallifreyan rhyme went. His hearts beat in his chest when he heard Clara whisper, "Doctor." He sighed and set the coordinates for his next destination.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

He had to think about it first. Was this really the way he should be weeding a garden? He looked at the spade in his hands thoughtfully and pondered for a moment, before proceeding to toss the curious device over his shoulder.

"Ow!" He turned, pretending to be surprised to see Clara there, standing in the sunlight and holding her hand to her face. He was practically superhuman, after all; if he could even be considered human, that is.

He smiled. "Ah, Clara, so nice to see you. Did you sleep well?" He didn't wait for her response, and instead just kneeled and started weeding the garden with his hands. It was much easier this way-his hands were far stronger than that flimsy piece of aluminum he had discarded. He already knew how she would respond, anyway; she wasn't one to admit that she had a horrible night's sleep and scarring nightmares that kept her awake most of the night-

"Horribly, now that you mention it. And, uh, what _are_ you doing, Doctor?" She was chipper, even in the early morning. She knelt beside him, dark hair swirling around her face.

The Doctor shrugged. "I'm weeding your garden, what does it look like I'm doing?" he answered with a small smile. They wouldn't be going anywhere today, he imagined. It had been a week for her since the mishap, but merely an hour for him. Time travel was never kind to anyone, it seemed. He decided that they would enjoy the sights and sounds of "modern day" London; well, it was _modern day_ to Clara, at least. He sat on his heels and stared at the weed in his hand. "Curious thing, isn't it? How something so useful is also harmful." The weed brought oxygen into this planet, just as its fellow plants, but it took over everything and was the bane to the beautiful plants in the garden. It was much like the Tardis; it brought him joy, and yet time travel itself brought him pain. He stared off into space for a moment, reflecting on this.

Clara craned her head to look him in the eyes. "Doctor, are you talking about the weed?" She gave him a dimpled smile before lightly punching him on the arm. "So, how 'bout we go on inside and have some breakfast? The children would love to see you."

"No." Shaking his head, he looked up at the sky. "It's a bright sunny day, let's fly!" His eyes were glittering with excitement and he was already moving before Clara even realized that he was gone. _Fly_? Clara laughed and ran to keep up with the Doctor as he walked to the Tardis.

They entered the big blue box and set the coordinates. "Are we leaving the planet?" Clara asked, hopeful.

The Doctor smiled ambiguously. "Now, Clara, would there be fun in telling you and ruining the surprise?" They weren't leaving the planet, of course; they weren't even leaving the country. He was taking her to an air show, and not just to watch-but to perform.

* * *

They arrived at the show with a bang; the Tardis made that noise again when it landed (the noise it wasn't supposed to make, according to River), and they went straight to the grounds. There was hardly a soul there, for it was early morning and the show didn't begin until late that afternoon. The Doctor approached the desk and pulled out his magic paper.

"Pilot Smith, you're late," the woman behind the desk intoned in a bored voice. She was examining her nails and barely glanced at his "ID" before checking his name off of the list. The Doctor glanced at the ID before putting it away. Perhaps they'd be lucky and the real Pilot Smith wouldn't appear today.

"How can we be late if the show doesn't start 'til afternoon?" Clara knew where they were now; it was quite obvious now that they were surrounded by dozens of jet planes. The Doctor was directed to his plane, and they were given suits and oxygen masks. Her eyes were wide with excitement. "How high up will we be going?"

"Oh, I imagine no more than 18,000 feet," the Doctor responded with a wink. He waved her away, and she went to change. He didn't change, however, and merely set the clothing and mask back where they belonged. He had no need of either the mask or the clothing.

Clara reappeared and looked at him curiously, but she said nothing. They stood for a moment before the Doctor became impatient. "Well, how 'bout we have a look around, Clara? No use mulling about like a bunch of sour grapes," he said, and he was off.

Clara stood there for a moment, thinking it over. "_Sour grapes_?" scrunching her nose, she muttered before calling out, "Wait, Doctor, that makes no sense!"


End file.
